


Like Lovers Do

by Suggilates



Category: Demon's Souls
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Crying, First Time, Forced Orgasm, M/M, Vaginal Sex, light cum inflation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-17
Updated: 2019-08-17
Packaged: 2020-09-06 07:37:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,838
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20287822
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Suggilates/pseuds/Suggilates
Summary: Ostrava asks for help a third time, the last time, he's sure.





	Like Lovers Do

**Author's Note:**

> Please play Demon's Souls.  
(Thank u for the editing and inspiration Hambone!!!!)

Boletaria was done for. Bodies littered the square, filthy mongrels feasting upon the corpses, starved by their demon-possessed masters. The state of the country was dire; Boletarian countryman were killed indiscriminately, anyone who opposed the demon invasion was pulled into the street and slaughtered. The corpses were strung up from the castle walls as examples to those who still remained. Ostrava picked his way around the fountain, gingerly tiptoeing over his former subjects. The smell of the carnage turned his stomach and tears pricked at his eyes.

_How could this happen? How could Father let the kingdom get so bad?_

As he rounded the corner, Ostrava saw the familiar sight of the gate to the palace, closed. He’d have to find a way around, but it had been so long since he was home, he didn’t know the streets like he used to. For the last few years of his life he had been studying abroad, sent away by his father to stay with his aunt, the Queen of Latria. He’d heard tales of how twisted the kingdom had gotten after the rise of the demons, loyal servants to the crown either falling through the fissure, or succumbing to the temptation of demons, but he never could have known the extent of the damage. There were no humans left. The echoing steps of the distant soul-starved were drowned out by the dogs picking apart the bodies in the square, though once they heard Ostrava step close they raised their heads from their meal. Distracted by his morbid thoughts, Ostrava could barely raise his shield in time to deflect the first dog’s bite, knocking the prince back a step with a solid strike. Rune sword in his opposite hand, he swung at the dog, wincing as he struck his mark and carved through the decaying flesh of the beast. The second dog rushed at him, foam flecking from its bloody maw. Even with his shield up, the force of the body flinging itself against him knocked Ostrava off his balance. Nearly falling back but catching himself in time to swing his sword, Ostrava sliced the dog across the throat, leaving the beast silent among the viscera it had been feeding on. There was no time to catch his breath. He had seen an alleyway he could use as an alternate route just up ahead. Ostrava sheathed his sword as he ducked into the alley.

The minister that appeared from around the corner nearly scared Ostrava to death. He shot back, hand too slow on the draw, so he turned to run. Hideous laughter erupted from the minister’s eerie mouth. Panic clouded his mind and he ran back to the locked gate like a creature of habit. Hot on Ostrava’s heels, the minister called to his knights, who were struggling to get out of the narrow alleyway.

Like a gift from God, the Demon Slayer appeared to Ostrava on the opposite side of the gate, and upon seeing the young knight began to rush down the stairs, towards the lever that operated the lock.

“Help, help!” Wailed Ostrava “Soul-starved soldiers are after me! In the name of all that is sacred, please open this gate!” He bashed his fists on the gate, sparing a glance over his shoulder at the rapidly advancing knights behind him.

“Oh lord- Please! Hurry! They are almost upon me!”

The Demon Slayer raised his hand to calm the prince, nearly to the lever when an arrow sprouted from his throat. The spray of blood made Ostrava wince, and his heart plummet. His savior was felled by an archer, hidden behind the set of stairs. His only hope lay on the ground, gurgling as he struggled to breathe around the arrow and the blood rapidly filling his throat. Ostrava wept in fear as he found the strength to pull his sword from its sheath. His legs shook terribly, armor clacking together from the force, but he still turned to face his attackers.

The minister chuckled as he swaggered up to Ostrava, great belly jiggling as he laughed, undeterred by the blade aimed at him. His knights flanked him on either side, the eerie red glow of their helmets betraying no emotion. The garish smile on the Minister’s face made Ostrava’s cheeks hurt in sympathy - it was stretched too wide, too gleeful. The demon-embraced official opened his arms in a gesture befitting of a saint, or a predator opening its wings, and the Knights beside him stepped forward. Ostrava’s heart was fit to burst, but he tried to soothe himself; he need only hold on until the Demon Slayer returned from the nexus- his savior never left him for long. The kindly Demon Slayer already having saved the young prince from peril twice over. Icy tendrils of fear sank like a stone in his gut; the hardest part of holding his ground was staying upright. Ostrava’s knees knocked together as the knights closed in. Should he die, he would never have found out the truth about his father- he couldn’t die here! Mustering what courage was left, and needing to buy time for the Slayer, Ostrava swung at the knights; only succeeding in hurting his ears with the resounding clang of metal on metal. He drew back his hand to prepare for another strike when the knight to his right grabbed his wrist, inhuman strength made the bones in his wrist creak under the pressure till he dropped his sword. The knight to his left wrenched the shield from his grip, ignoring the way Ostrava yelped in pain at the rough treatment. Both wrists held firm in the grip of the knights, and Ostrava found himself exposed to the minister, knees shaking so badly it was a miracle he still stood so still.

“My father will hear of this! You’ll pay for treating the Crown Prince so brutishly!” Ostrava bit out, voice wavering. Shame licked at his heart with his voice in such poor condition, but maybe if he could relay to them his status they might let him go, he was royalty after all. The minister’s gut swung as he laughed and he glanced from side to side at the knights in jest, but the knights didn’t stir from their position holding Ostrava to the gate.

“Your father? The man who tasked us with ridding the land of humans?” The minister asked.

“No- that’s only a rumor! I intend to seek council with him to set these lies to right!” Ostrava writhed against his captors as he spoke. However, his heartfelt plea only inspired more laughter in the consumed minister, whose ghastly grin stretched impossibly wide across his blackened teeth.

“Do you think those who agreed to the power of a demon would so readily forfeit it? Just because some bleeding-heart prince asked nicely?” To illustrate his point the minister raised his arm and flexed, at the same time showing off the array of devices tied to his hip. Tools of persuasion, pliers, whips, a variety of instruments to draw forth the truth from prisoners; now turned on fellow countrymen. Ostrava shrank against the gate behind him as much as the iron grip on his wrists would allow as the minister moved in close. The imposing man reached for the braided rope that hung loosely from his belt and Ostrava’s eyes followed the way it slipped limply from its loop. His pulse in his neck, Ostrava was frozen in terror as the demon bound his wrist, just under where the knight held it, stinking breath making his stomach churn as he pressed in close to thread the rope through a bar in the gate. With another short knot, Ostrava was pinned with his arms tied above his head. The trio stepped back, seemingly admiring their handiwork as the prince trembled under the scrutiny.

Satisfied, the minister fetched a knife from his belt, an ugly thing, battered and dull. Just sharp enough to make a slice with enough _persuasion_. Ostrava pressed himself to the gate, even now trying to escape.

“I am your _prince_! If you serve my father you serve _me_! Stop this at once!” His voice broke so badly even Ostrava could barely understand himself.

“What would the king say if he found you murdered his only son?”

That gave the minister pause, shoulders rolling back in thought. Tapping his knife to his chin, he regarded his two companions and asked them,

“Do demons die of old age?”

Ostrava was silent, confused by such a bizarre question.

“If a king were to never die, what use would he have for an heir?”

Dread hardened in Ostrava’s stomach, heavy and cold.

“Even if he weren’t immortal, what use would King Allant have for some sniveling brat like little Ariona?”

Hearing his birth name made Ostrava wince. He hadn’t heard it since he left Latria, after hearing news of the demon scourge he set off to find the truth, and the last time he heard his own name was his aunt and uncle bidding him farewell.

“You know that’s why he sent you to Latria.”

Ostrava’s eyes flicked back to the minister, breath hitching.

“Some limp-wristed little pup you were, could barely hold a sword at the same age your father had already conquered nations. Even now, having grown into some shapely young man, you’re better fit as a whore than a Prince of Boletaria.”

Anger flashed in Ostrava’s chest.

“Bite your tongue!” He commanded. The minister chuckled in response, waving his knife as he drew closer.

“Even now, you think you can just use the skills you picked up in the libraries of Latria to talk your way out of peril. All those books you busied yourself with left you weak.” The minister stood close enough Ostrava could feel his belly brush his armor. With all his might Ostrava kicked between the minister’s legs.

The bellowing was so loud it hurt Ostrava’s ears, but his heart trilled to see the bastard collapse in front of him, falling back a few paces and growling in through his pain. Ostrava had no time to gloat in his small victory before the minister looked up at him from where he was kneeling, spittle flecking his chin as he yelled to his knights.

“Show this little welp how sorry he’ll be!” He wheezed.

The knights moved in unison, standing before the prince like an iron wall. The possibilities flashed through Ostrava’s mind, regret washing over as he realized he just signed his own doom. Death for kicking some demon pig in the balls. The knights in front of him reached for his breastplate, each grabbing hold of the open upper lip. To Ostrava’s shock they wrenched the breastplate open, laying bare his thin under armor. Latrian infantry preferred mobility to sheer bulk, and over his travels Ostrava found himself needing something even lighter. His thin linen undershirt was slicked to his chest with sweat, molded lovingly over his small breasts. The minister cackled from his stance on the ground, leaning forward to grab his knife from where it had fallen.

“Oh, you’re going to learn the real power of a demon, boy.” The minister growled as he stood, heaving as he struggled to get upright again. Ostrava’s chest tightened, breath stopping in his throat as he watched the sunlight glance off the knife in the official’s hand. All this work- this whole journey- just to be gut like a fish. Tears spilled down his cheeks, settling uncomfortably into the neck of his helm. Having recovered from his assault, the minister approached once more, gleeful grin unflinching. He didn’t want to die, but if it would go by quickly, perhaps it wouldn’t be so scary.

The minister balled his fist in the front of Ostrava’s shirt and sliced it open, exposing Ostrava’s breasts. Stunned, Ostrava jerked his arms, writhing against his bondage on instinct to try and cover himself up. His display only made the minister laugh.

“He really has grown up! Our little Ariona is a real man now.” The official rumbled, admiring the way Ostrava’s petite breasts shook as the young man trembled. The way the minister licked his lips scared Ostrava so badly that fresh tears streaked down his face, his chest rattling with his sob.

_Humiliated before he was killed? What kind of cruelty had Ostrava inflicted to deserve such a fate?_

If only such misfortune ended at having his chest exposed. The minister didn’t back away, instead tracing his knife’s dull edge down Ostrava’s stomach, watching with a twinkle in his eye at the way Ostrava jumped back in fear, breath quivering in his chest. Fear screwed Ostrava’s eyes shut, nerves on edge as they followed the blade down his front, scraping above where his belts held his hip armor on. If only he could be anywhere else- if only his savior was back from the nexus- if only he’d never been born!

The blade between his legs had Ostrava screaming in terror. It didn’t pierce him, but the blade still sat squarely between his lips, even though his trousers the blade found its mark. Pleas tumbled from Ostrava’s mouth, he’d pay money, he’d talk to his father, promise the kingdom, anything if he would just let him go-! The minister just laughed his empty laugh, pressing the knife closer, sliding the dull blade dangerously between Ostrava’s folds.

He pressed the hilt of the knife to Ostrava’s clit through the layers and Ostrava pissed himself in fear.

The minister jumped back with a shout, shocked into silence as the Prince of Boletaria well and truly wet himself. The short spray gave way to a dark stain that traveled down the inside of Ostrava’s thighs. Mortification was not a strong enough word for what Ostrava felt, cornered and scared, he had reacted like some child having a nightmare. So far past embarrassed, Ostrava couldn’t hold back his tears. He writhed against his bound wrists and wept, wept for himself, his country, his father, everything had gone to shit.

“He really is a pup! Not even house trained. A sick little mongrel that thinks it can just run off and when it returns it exacts a warm welcome!” The minister laughed, speaking much too loudly for how close everyone was.

Ostrava wept harder, desperately trying to hide his face. Oh, he wished they would just kill him and be done with it, his mission be damned, this hell wasn’t worth the possibility his father _wasn’t _a demon. His heart would never recover if he was wrong about that, too. Though his tears Ostrava didn’t hear the minister wipe his knife off on his pantleg, and he jumped when the blade was at the inside of his thigh again. The tip dragged up his inseam, making the hair on the back of his neck stand on end, till it was sat at the crook of his hip.

“You’ve made quite a mess of yourself, little prince.” The minister jeered, angling his blade to slip under Ostrava’s trousers. It took some effort, but the minister dug the dull blade through the sturdy fabric, and sawed a jagged hole up the thigh of Ostrava’s pantleg. His stuttered sobs wracked his body, but he held still out of fear that the knife would nick him. Sawing was slow work, the knife’s edge struggled to get through the damp fabric. Determined in his work, the minister kept at it till there was a rough tear down the front of Ostrava’s trousers, exposing the young prince. Ostrava’s weeping started anew, thighs trembling as he tried to cover himself, to retain any of his dignity. No one had ever seen him like this, he’d never been intimate with anyone. Still a virginal, virtuous prince, as he was raised to be. The terror that gripped him was unique, not the same kind as looking at a dead end full of dreglings, but a raw and instinctual terror that made him want to double in on himself, anything to turn away and cover himself back up to be back in his protected state. Once upon a time he’d dreamed of being ravaged by a knight of his father’s court, but never once gave a thought to some stinking minister brutishly attacking him. The realization that his first time would be at the hands of some demon-possessed creep broke his heart; all of his romantic notions of long walks through the kingdom’s moonlit gardens followed by soft and slow kissing were tarnished.

The soft sound of the knife sliding back into its sheath was no comfort, Ostrava could hardly make the sound out over his sobs. He’d long since given up on trying to hold back any sort of mournful cries, and when the minister palmed his teat, Ostrava choked on a sob. The touch wasn’t unkind, only exploratory, he cupped Ostrava’s small breast and squeezed gently, reveling in how soft and giving it was. Not enough to fit in his hand proper, but enough to appreciate. Ostrava’s mind raced, a million thoughts of escape, of death, anything but the moment he was in. The minister set the heel of his palm to Ostrava’s nipple and pressed in, moving in slow circles. The electric spark that shot down Ostrava’s spine was startling and he tried to thrash and writhe from the minister’s grasp. The official pinched his nipple and twisted- hard- and Ostrava wailed, but stopped his flailing.

“Be a good boy, and I’ll make sure you feel good, too.” The minister said, eyes sweeping over Ostrava’s small chest in delight, particularly eyeing the way the breast in his grip shook along with the prince. He released Ostrava’s nipple and the prince settled, not at all relaxed, but the pain had stopped. Without even a minute to rest, the minister grabbed both of Ostrava’s breasts and kneaded them lovingly, toying with his cute, dusky pink nipples. The heady sensation had Ostrava’s eyes rolling, he’d never had anyone _else _play with his chest before, and as frightened as he was, his body was still heating up at the touch. Maybe he was already dead, maybe he’d done bad enough in his life this was his punishment. The hands on his chest tugged gently, nipple pinched between thumb and forefinger, and Ostrava moaned through his sobs. He was sickened by his own reaction, felt betrayed he could moan even when he was being so grossly mistreated; he had at least hoped his body would know when a touch was not welcome.

It only got worse when one hand left his chests and cupped his crotch fully. His vulva sat demurely in the minister’s palm, a perfect fit. Ostrava stood on the tips of his toes, pulling on his bound wrists to try and lift himself from the minister’s touch in any way he could, but the minister’s hand followed, now a little more roughly as he grabbed him.

“Oh, nervous are we? This couldn’t be your first time, could it, young Ariona?” The minister jeered. Ostrava kicked at him but the sensation of a hand cupping his groin made his legs stutter, confused by the unfamiliar sensation. The minister laughed, stepping back to avoid his weak retaliation. He raised the hand that had held Ostrava to his nose and sniffed, giggling to himself as the sharp smell of piss still desperately clung to Ostrava’s folds. He wiped his hand on Ostrava’s clothed outer thigh, then gestured to the knights, a vague hand wave they interpreted as a real command, and they snapped back to life. Each scooped one of Ostrava’s legs up by the knee and held the prince’s legs open. Stranded in the air Ostrava thrashed, trying to free either of his legs, but the red knights held fast, grip unwavering.

“Please- please! You don’t have to do this! You were once men weren’t you? There must be some semblance of a heart left- I am on a noble journey, I only seek answers! Please, let me go!” Ostrava tripped over his words, voice panicky and high.

“We are still men inside, young prince, but men have wants- _needs_. Do you know how long we spent watching you filling out, growing into such a beautiful young man? How many years we watched you sauntering around, acting oblivious to all the yearning men around you? This has been a long time coming, you can only tempt a man so long before he’ll take what he’s owed.” The minister said, each word chilling Ostrava’s core. These ministers, hands of the king, had been lusting after him for years- likely even fantasizing about scenarios like this- for __years__. The thought sickened him more than he realized, his stomach felt weak, but he fought back the urge to vomit in his own helmet. The minister’s hungry eyes trailed down Ostrava’s body, drinking in his flushed chest and stopping just past the shorn whorls above his cut. Ostrava’s breathing was so uneven his sight began to wane, static at the edges of his vision as his body wasn’t getting enough air to its extremities, the last thing he saw before he fainted was the minister licking his lips.

Dreams were strange, Ostrava never knew how much time had passed whenever he slept. When he dreamt he could live a lifetime, building a new life for himself, but when he awoke only an hour had passed. Sometimes his dreams were scary, Latrian prison guards locking him up for a library book past due, or an invasion that left his loved ones dead. But the dreams were usually kind, sometimes even a little heated. He dreamed of many knights in his father’s court, but the one who came to him the most was Biorr, a massive man, but a gentle one. The way his birth name sounded in Biorr’s mouth made it sound so electric. He would come to Ariona in the night and they would embrace, an innocent kiss getting filthy till the knight couldn’t hold back, and he would press Ariona into the sheets. With work-worn hands he would lift his nightgown and press kisses down his chest till he got to his glistening cunny, where he would part him so gently, and kiss him so sweetly, experienced tongue working him open-

Ostrava’s eyes snapped open, familiar sensation on his hips. Against his better judgment he looked to see. The minister was between his legs, lolling black tongue laving over Ostrava’s cunt.

He screamed so loudly his throat hurt.

The young prince tried to break away, wailing at the knights to let him go. He would give them anything if they would let him go. The knights held fast, maybe even holding him open wider out of spite. Like a specter rising from the ground, the minister appeared in Ostrava’s vision again, chin shining. This had to be a nightmare.

“Did I get the honor of deflowering the prince?”

Ostrava’s voice cut out, his shriek turning into a hoarse whine. This nightmare would only get worse. To his horror, the minister slid a finger between Ostrava’s folds, finding him was already wet. What a traitorous body Ostrava was cursed with.

The finger that speared him could have easily been a knife and the pain would have been the same. The intruding digit curved inside him, crooking and probing. Ostrava’s shoulders burned as he tried to writhe away, thrashing violently to try and dislodge the minister. The ropes dug into his wrists, burning friction with every pull against them. Were he not wearing a helmet he would even consider gnawing his own arm off like some trapped fox. The minister teased a second finger, tracing Ostrava’s lips, then pressing inside. If the first finger was a stretch, this was like being torn open. He’d experimented before, a lithe finger in the night, a shy touch that was too much, but never anything so thick as the minister’s fingers.

“So tight, you really need to relax or else I won’t fit.” The minister jeered, scissoring his fingers. He leaned in slow, spare hand snaking up Ostrava’s chest, and grabbed his small breast. He fondled him kindly, turning his hand in small circles, teasing his nipple. The young prince shook in fear, unable to keep up his efforts of escape without dislodging his shoulders. How slick he had become disgusted him, the noise reaching his helm tested his already weak stomach as the minister fingered him open. The thumb at his clit make his eyes fog over, head rolling onto his shoulder as he tried not to feel, tried to banish the sensations sparking through his body. The warm hand on his chest made his heart stir, pulse quickening through his veins. This was no loving embrace- why was he so wet? The question didn’t have time to linger, the minister worked him open and his mind struggled to focus, panic overriding any rational thought. Each thrust of the fingers inside of him had stars popping in Ostrava’s vision, his mouth drying out as he panted. The hand at his breast tugged at his nipple, twisting till Ostrava yelped.

Ostrava’s ears were ringing from screaming into his helm and he tucked his head into his shoulder, resigning himself to try and muffle his whimpering. Already so exhausted, he could barely plead when the minister tried to fit a third finger inside him, already satisfied with how Ostrava took the first two. With his eyes closed, Ostrava was unprepared for when the minister took his other breast into his mouth, sucking at his teat with wild abandon. Ostrava still found the power to shriek in shock, but couldn’t do much to fight back as the minister teethed at his sensitive nipple. Even with tears pouring down his cheeks and snot clogging his nose, the pathetic display did nothing to stop the way the minister touched him, kissed him, stretched him. The stretch was hurting less and less as the probing finger continued, uncomfortable burn being replaced with a shameful urge for something more substantial. His hips tried to stir on the minister’s fingers, body craving the flash of heat that came when his fingers hit just right. Ostrava wished he were dead. God knows even if he were to die, likely of a broken heart, the minister would simply lay his urges onto his fresh corpse, he’d still have a few hours of warmth in the cadaver. Such a morbid thought only inspired fresh tears, chest shaking with his uneven sobs. He was left hiccuping as the minister pulled his fingers from Ostrava, slicked hand fumbling with his trousers. With a frustrated huff he released Ostrava’s chest and took a half step back, giving the prince time to try and take a deep breath.

“Please... Haven’t you done enough? Surely this is enough cruelty to sate your thirst...” Ostrava whimpered, choking on his plugged nose as he fought through his sobs. Focused on undoing his belt, the minister laughed to himself, but didn’t look up to meet Ostrava’s eyes.

“How naive are you, boy? Son of the king but you still ask such stupid questions? Allant really did raise a coward.” He sneered.

“And what have you to complain about? I’ve heard your whorish moaning, I know how much you enjoy this. You’ve been wet since we grabbed you, practically begging for some good cock.”

“That’s not true!” Ostrava wailed.

“What’s this, then?” The minister plunged his fingers back inside Ostrava, thumb pushing back the hood that covered Ostrava’s swollen clit. He trust roughly, till he reached his knuckle inside the prince, and slid the pad of his thumb over his over sensitized bud, too quickly and too harshly for anything resembling tender love making. He was so wet there was hardly any resistance, only the pillowy, silky walls of his engorged lips readily taking in the demon’s fingers. The slick sound had him willing bile back down his throat, but Ostrava still clenched around the fingers. He shouted to cover the moan that threatened to escape. Being dead wouldn’t solve anything- he wished Biorr was here- a strong knight to save him, cut him loose, maybe even rewrite these horrible experiences with his own calloused hands touching him gently, lovingly, the way his first time should have been-!

No amount of wishful thinking would get rid of the official. He deflated when the official pulled his hand out again, trying to focus on the way the rope dug into his wrists to distract himself from what threat would come next. The short clank of a belt full of tools hitting the ground was like the fall of a sword on an executioner’s block. Ostrava kept his eyes shut tight, but a strange sound caught his ear, like smoothing a salve over a burn. He peeked with one eye, as if only seeing it with half his vision would limit the degree of horror he would witness. The minister had pulled free his cock, and was wiping the slick from Ostrava’s cunt down his shaft. No penis should be that shade of angry purple, what may have once been a regular, human piece had been warped by demonic influence, wider in the middle than anywhere else, it sat unnaturally long in the minister’s hand. His first time seeing a penis outside of a research paper or a painting, and it was a perverted image, warped far from its original form. Too stunned by terror, Ostrava found himself unable even to beg as the minister drew close once more, bobbing his dick in his hand threateningly. Surely the Demon Slayer would be back from the nexus by now, surely his savior was just around the corner, sword poised to strike. This would never happen in one of his fairy tales- the prince would get away- he would be hurt but his spirit would never be broken- his purity would be intact- his soul would be intact- he would be saved-!

When the cockhead breached him, Ostrava expected his world to end, the lights to dim and some grand moment of heartbreak and mournful crying to announce the end of his innocence. Like the heavens themselves would open up and he would be altered by losing such a part of him. Fire and ice would rain from the sky and despite being of age for some time, his body would become truly that of an adult’s; a grown man finally taking his last steps out of his boyhood. But nothing happened. There was no catastrophe, no loud condemnation of his soul, no body altering magics. Just a stretch in his pussy. The minister had worked him open well enough it barely hurt, not even some piercing pain to commemorate his deflowering. Just an ache, and a feeling of being filled. The minister sucked in a small breath, pushing in a little farther, and Ostrava was wet enough to take him. His heart was already so broken, there was nothing left, only a crushing void inside him. He wasn’t going to be saved, he wasn’t some pure and virtuous young man, he wasn’t even a respected Prince of Boletaria anymore. He was a pathetic young man who had silly ideas of grandeur and hope, and now he was tied to a gate and being fucked by a fat minister. Then he’d end up a corpse like his fellow countrymen, used up and thrown out like the common riffraff he was.

The minister bottomed out inside him, hips flush.

“Now that wasn’t so bad, was it? All that commotion before, and now hardly a peep. I told you, you were made for this.” He smirked, hand wrapping around the underside of Ostrava’s thigh. The angle between his legs was too close for him to get a good grip on Ostrava’s breasts again, but the minister had a fine view. Savoring the clench of Ostrava’s pussy, the minister took a moment to look the prince over, he could make out the dead stare behind his visor, but he would change that soon enough. He promised the boy he’d make him feel good too, after all. The minister heaved a short sigh, then slowly pulled himself out, leaving the tip inside. He would start slow, it was the young man’s first time after all. He didn’t want to break his toy his first time playing with it. The prince was soft, like a velvet glove gripping him, still nervous and tight, but stretched plenty by his expert work. The minister pushed back in slowly, drawing out the noise of Ostrava’s wet cunt taking him in till he was sheathed inside the prince. Allant really did a good job with this one, he was dogshit when it came to any sort of tactical scenario, but this boy would make a good broodmare if it came to it. Even if he weren’t viable, he’d make an excellent cockwarmer.

The thought of the prince being degraded had the minister hot under the collar and he found himself speeding up with thrusts without meaning too, bouncing Ostrava’s back against the gate and back onto his dick. The little prince hiccuped, coming back to his senses. For a boy his age he was still divinely tight, he really must have been trying to save himself for some future husband. The thought of taking some sought after prize on a whim made the minister’s heart trill. Ariona’s virginity being sullied by some common demon, it’s what the prince deserved for his haughtiness. Though, He should make do on his promise, no use trying to get someone catatonic to cum. The minister set his hand over Ostrava’s gut, pressing in to feel the way his cock pulses inside the prince, and Ostrava whimpered, breath speeding up as his body caught up with the sensations around him. His nipples were pert, and his chest flushed, so he knew the prince was still there, even if his voice was subdued from holding back tears. He slid his hand down Ostrava’s stomach, to his hips, angling his hand to press his digits over Ostrava’s clit. The prince sucked in a breath- he was definitely all there. He rolled his fingers over the hood as he thrusted, pistoning his hips out of sync with how he worked Ostrava’s swollen clit. The prince gasped through clenched teeth.

The way the prince shook his head was cute, the minister could see his downy hair plastered with sweat to his forehead through his helm. The way the tears rolled down his ruddy cheeks, how he tried to close his eyes as if maybe if he denied it hard enough he would go away.

“You know, none of the_real _knights of the court reacted like this.” The minister puffed, out of breath from exertion.

“Those who wouldn’t accept the might of the demons were put to death, most of them accepted their fate without protest, too proud to bow to the king’s new power.” Ostrava wouldn’t look at him, but his eyebrows knit like he was pleading.

“The ones that wept were much more fun, they were just like you, thought their king would never side with the demons. Simpletons like them wouldn’t understand opportunity if it stabbed them in the back.” Ostrava’s breathing was audible, soft whines through his clenched teeth.

“Now I’d be surprised if there were a knight left alive who wouldn’t take the same opportunity as me.” The prince tried to cry, honestly he did, but the minister played with him so roughly he was overcome, a mournful sob turning into an erotic moan. The minister rubbed him roughly, fingers flying over his clit so quickly Ostrava didn’t know how to react, mouth ajar. The way the minister’s dick spread him open had Ostrava keening, the feeling unlike any he had ever experienced before. Being touched by someone else was so much __better __than touching himself, and he hated himself for it. He’d played with himself before, biting his knuckle to quiet his moans as he rubbed his fingers between his lips frantically, trying to find the right rhythm that would push him over. The fat cock between his legs wasn’t wired to his brain like his hands were, he didn’t know what it would do, or how deep it would hit inside him. That lack of control is what was sending Ostrava hurtling into the pits of depravity, desperately trying to fend off his impending orgasm. Tumbling moans and hiccups reverberated in his helm, reminding him with an echo of his sins.

“Enjoying yourself, Prince Ariona? I knew you would. The way your pussy sucks me back in… You’ve needed a good fuck for a while.” the minister huffed, breath labored. Ostrava shook his head, his wail of denial cut off by hiccups when the minister thrust too roughly. Even in this brutal assault he still found it more overwhelming than any amateur exploration of his own. Certainly more pleasurable than shamefully humping his pillows with the thought of a brave knight between his thighs. He really was some pervert, wasn’t he? Getting off on being beaten and threatened. The way the minister filled him out and hit deep inside, along with the way he toyed with Ostrava’s clit, it made his eyes roll back. Even if his mind screamed and begged and pleaded to be let go, his body was still itching to get off, the friction and stretch working together to tighten the coil in his gut. Against his will, his hips bucked into the minister’s hand and he shrieked as he came, a short burst of slick spurting around the minister’s cock.

The official didn’t stop his hand, working Ostrava through his orgasm till he was back to sobbing, clenching painfully around the intruding member inside him and babbling wordlessly. Focused on his own, the minister pounded into Ostrava without pause, slobbering onto Ostrava’s stomach as he leaned in. He reamed the prince till he suddenly went still, grunting as he seemed to nuzzle Ostrava’s helm. So stunned by his body’s warm tingling Ostrava didn’t notice just how much the minister was cumming- until he felt his gut swell with the pressure. Out of one of the mouth slats of his helm Ostrava could see the way his stomach lightly distended- inflated by the demon’s excessive cum. Panic didn’t even register in his mind. After the terror he’d been through, it only felt natural, of course a demon would have some hellish biology that would alter how much semen he would pump into a victim.

The splat of cum hitting the cobblestone would stay with Ostrava, the demon pulled his softening cock free and unplugged the dam keeping his seed inside. The official waved his hand casually at the knights as he tucked himself away and they released Ostrava’s legs without warning. His bottom half swung to the ground with the grace of a downed fowl and his full body weight tested how strong his arm sockets were, entirely supported by his wrists bound above his head. Cum spilled from him like an overfilled pastry, wet plopping till all that was left inside him was too deep for gravity’s hand. He trembled silently, unable to even bring himself to try and stand, but his knees could not reach the ground, so instead he hung by his wrists, limp and defeated.

When Ostrava had first asked for help from the Demon Slayer, he found himself trapped nearby a corpse which wore a peculiar ring. The Slayer had shown it to him, blue and silver, the ring of a thief the man had said. The Slayer had slipped it onto his own hand, something about the ring not being used properly. He had forgotten about the small interaction until the official had leaned down to retrieve his belt and suddenly the beast was decapitated, his savior in soul form standing over the corpse as it collapsed. When he moved he made no noise, the ring’s magic muffling his steps. The brave Slayer fought off the two knights as they descended the steps toward him, dispatching them one at a time, much more careful to look over his shoulder so as to not be caught off guard again. Certain that they were safe the slayer cut the ropes from Ostrava’s wrists and the prince finally crumpled, wincing as he landed in the splattering of cum beneath him.

The Slayer took Ostrava’s hands in his, and his mouth moved, but no words came out. All Ostrava could hear was soft fuzz, like a muffled ocean lapping at a shore. His dreams always were bizarre, but he couldn’t shake the feeling this one felt so real. Ostrava looked at the rope burns on his wrists, clear, tangible marks. Biorr was always the one to save him in his nightmares. The Slayer drew from his pouch a shard of archstone, and Ostrava found himself wondering about how he could dream of something he had never seen.


End file.
